


Finals Week

by deniigiq



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Finals Week, Finals Week brings out the fragility of humanity in all of us, Gen, the shortest shorts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-26
Updated: 2017-08-26
Packaged: 2018-12-20 05:09:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11913876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deniigiq/pseuds/deniigiq
Summary: The team handles finals week.





	Finals Week

Barnes

 

Just as the clock ticked past 4:19am, Bucky endured his third bout of hysteria.

 

* * *

 

Work Cited

 

Harvey, Bernard and Wilkens, Julia A. “A New Type of Memorial: Prosthetics in Rural American Communities, 1975-present.” _Contemporary Sociology of War and Peace._ Vol 5. No. 3 (Spring 2014): 223-257.

Horace, Maxwell. “Arms and Arms: Weaponizing the Prosthetic in Post-war America.” In _Beyond the Battlefield: Essays._ Ed. Martin DeLacy and Jennifer Alvarez. Amherst, Massachusetts: The Amherst University Press, 2011.

**420 BLAZE IT|**

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

1

* * *

 

He laid his head among the rabble of energy drink cans and chocolate covered expresso beans strewn along the table and sobbed though his barks of laughter. This was it. This was how he died.

 

Romanov

 

“GIRL TELL ME YOU HAVE RUBBER BANDS—” Oh fuck he broke her door. Clint was gonna die. He was gonna die today was his death day he was going to die and he hadn't even decided if he wanted to be buried or burned and he didn’t even have rubber bands and he had 15 minutes and two more support beams to build and fuck he just needed this class for GE, why the fuck did he take physics for GE and Nat was gonna kilL HIM BECAUSE HE BROKE HER FUCKING DOOR AND— The door wasn’t broken, he realized, swinging it back to look at the damage. It had just been left ajar.

A giggle brought his attention to the middle of the impeccably clean living room to Natasha, sitting on the floor in front of her coffee table. The pillows on the couch behind her were arranged at 45 degree angles. The throw rug was arranged between them, three inches apart from the pillows on either side. She smiled like she was going to devour him.

“I have bands?” She offered, then broke into a series of giggles which inspired more giggles until she couldn’t sit upright on her own volition.

She pushed the laptop forward and laid down very slowly, gracefully even, into the space between the table and the couch. Clint saw five shot glasses aligned exactly two inches apart in a line down the edge of the table.

“Bands?” she asked the beautifully vacuumed carpet. Her shoulders shook.

Clint edged over the organizer on the small table next to the door and liberated two rubber bands from between the stack of post-it notes organized by color and the artfully fanned out highlighters. All of the paperclips in the compartment above the bands faced the same direction. They would talk about avoidance tactics later. They would also talk about Nat’s thesis submission later.

 

Rogers

 

Steve posted a notice on his door that if anyone was looking for him to:

**1\. Please stop.**

**2\. He was in the graduate studio.**

Steve posted a notice on the graduate studio door that if anyone was looking for him to:

**1\. Please stop.**

**2\. He was in the sculpture lab.**

Steve posted a notice on the sculpture lab door that if anyone was looking for him to:

**1\. Tell his mom he loves her.**

**2\. He had ascended to the astral plane and could be located with the sacrifice of a pigeon and a recitation of the Lord’s prayer backwards.**

Clint found him in the graduate showroom hanging individual glass teardrops from the rafters with fishing wire to create a frozen cascade of man-made rain around a 6 by 8 foot oil painting of a nude, the edges of whose canvas were purposefully unfinished.

It was one of the most beautiful things Clint had ever seen.

When he tried to convey this to the artist himself, perched on the top of a ladder with no shoes and paint smeared on his face and hands, Steve blinked owlishly at Clint as though he’d forgotten that people used language to communicate. He then resumed hanging teardrops as though nothing had happened.

 

Barton

 

Clint set his toothpick bridges between the two desks before his professor and whimpered each time the old man poured a cup of water into the bucket suspended from the middle of his larger bridge. Everyone in the room looked on with held breath as the thing started bending dangerously.

The old man held still for the longest two seconds of Clint’s life before pouring more water into the cup.

Clint decided that he’d prefer thumbscrews in the future. 

 

Stark

 

Tony rattled his way down the hallway double-fisting cups of coffee with a keyboard tucked under his right armpit. No one told him the usb cable was dragging behind him.

He stopped at the lab door and then stepped an enormous, careful step over the threshold.

He rattled the coffee down onto the table in front of him, carefully set the keyboard down as well, and then wandered over to the counter in the back to put on clear safety goggles. He removed his left sandal and fished out the matching sneaker to the one on his right foot from the back of the cupboard before returning to the keyboard on the desk. He placed the sneaker next to the coffee and began typing away.

No one said anything about how the keyboard was not connected to anything or about the fact that this was the chemistry lab.

 

Banner

 

Dr. Banner had smashed a trashcan between the door and the threshold as a makeshift doorstop.

He’d printed 75 copies of the exam, two “Finals in Session, Do Not Disturb” signs, and made a cup of coffee. He sat at the front of the room, staring at the suddenly full classroom with a bored expression on his face.

A student dropped his pencil and leaned far too far over his desk, practically brushing his chin against his neighbor’s elbow. He picked up his pencil and went back to his test and glanced up to see if anyone had seen. He met Bruce’s eyes. Bruce smiled pleasantly.

He erased the answer to number 18.

**Author's Note:**

> I am starting my PhD program in two weeks and bracing for impact.


End file.
